


Sleight Of Hand

by LoudenSwainfangirl



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Fix-It, M/M, i had to do something
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 10:32:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18715258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoudenSwainfangirl/pseuds/LoudenSwainfangirl
Summary: Quentin awakens from a vivid dream.





	Sleight Of Hand

**Author's Note:**

> I know I'm not alone in the upheaval that episode has caused. This little bitty fic is my attempt to try to mend four shattered hearts. You know who you are <3 Peaches & plums motherf&$%er.

Quentin Coldwater’s eyes pop open, his mouth gapes on a deep inhale and his bare torso bends as he sits up. The tips of his fingers feel damp from where they had tightly pinched the underworld metro card. Penny’s words of, “This is as far as I go, Brother” fades from his memory as the confusion presses in.

 _It wasn’t real?_ His hands scrub over his face before running through his sweat dampened hair. He sits upon a soft bed. Much softer than the forest floor that had been under his feet only moments ago. He swears he can still smell the acrid smoke of the campfire that surrounded his grieving friends. His Eliot.

Alice? His heart begins to hammer in his chest as an image flashes before his eyes. Sitting at the foot of a staircase. _No_. Q shakes his head in an attempt to shake the fog. He may be disorientated but he knows for certain he’d never trust Alison again.

His hands clutch the ratty old patchwork quilt as he looks around the room. His heart knows this room is real. The bed shifts beside him but he hesitates to look. For a moment he’s afraid to see blonde.

The large, familiar hand that settles between his shoulder blades assures him his fears will be unfounded. Quentin’s breath hitches in his chest as he glances to his left. Eliot’s knitted brow is partially covered by the dark curls over his right eye. His hand moves as he pushes to a seated position. The cold left in its place reminds Quentin of the- _not real!_ \- vacant mirror.

“Shhh,” Eliot soothes as his whoosh of hot air tickles the peach soft hairs of Quentin’s ear moments before pliant lips touch his neck. “Only a dream, Q.” Strong arms engulf his torso, chasing away any lasting remnants of unease.

Quentin feels his body falling backward as Eliot tugs him down to their pillow. Eliot wastes little time sliding his lank form over Quentin. Q lets out a contented sigh as the weight presses him into the bed.

Eyes the color of a lion’s mane searches Quentin’s face. “Must’ve been a wild one.” His drawl is low and smooth. “Care to share?”

Quentin shakes his head as his fingers brush away his favorite wild curl. “No.” He clears his throat over his raspy voice. “No,” he repeats, clearer this time. “I’m where I need to be.”

A slow smile spreads over Eliot’s face as he leans down, bringing the tips of their noses a hair’s breath away from touching. “Then allow me to distract with a little sleight of hand and proof of concept.”

A gentle breeze rustles past the curtains and delivers the sweet scent of the plum tree blossoming in their front yard. Nothing remains of the painful dream as the press of Eliot’s lips mends Quentin’s aching heart.


End file.
